


Of Love and Hatred

by ferporcel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferporcel/pseuds/ferporcel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lives of two wizards revolve and resolve around love and hatred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Love and Hatred

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Sobre Amor e Ódio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/388391) by [ferporcel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferporcel/pseuds/ferporcel)



> **Disclaimer:** It’s not mine; it’s all J.K. Rowling’s.
> 
> **A/N:** This fic was written in 2006 for the Halloween exchange of the LiveJournal community snapetes. My gratitude to Annie Talbot, for beta-reading the English version, and to Obsidian Embrace, for helping me find the right expression to end this fic. *hugs*
> 
>   
> 

Dark, cold black meets bright, deep green. The distance, the sparse trees coming between them as they move, the smoke of many burning souls on the ground; nothing can take the eyes of these two wizards from one another. Two men who walked a battlefield designed by and for them to bring about the essence of their very lives. Men who had been innocent boys, even if briefly; loved boys who knew no love. 

The difference in the number of autumns each has seen no longer manifested in many differences between them. They both had been bundles of joy; heaven-haired babies carried by happy mothers with―yes―authentic love. Many knew that about the Boy-Who-Lived, but very few knew it to be true about the sour man circling him among trees now. 

Harry Potter had lost that love when he was one year old. All knew Lord Voldemort had killed the mother who tried to protect her only son and had lost his powers in the process of trying to finish the job. Harry was instantly called a hero for something he knew nothing about and would not know for a long time. He had been taken from warmth and joy to cold and misery. 

Yes, Harry was a hero, but not the kind of hero the wizarding word said him to be. A hero he should be for the faith he had in the love he didn’t remember being the recipient of and not for putting the evil at rest. The real hero of that was, again, love. Some many times he’d been discouraged, but no, he’d refused to give up, and that made Harry Potter a real hero, saving himself from the abyss where love never reaches.

Severus Snape had lost that love too, but not so abruptly nor so directly. He had lived with his parents for more than eleven years, and although they had loved him all along, young Severus wouldn’t be able to confirm that, so subtle it had been. Yes, parents have many ways of loving their child, some more effective than others.

Years of disappointment and lost fights led Severus to the abyss Harry had miraculously avoided, and darkness overtook him, covering much more than his pale flesh with heavy robes. Severus’ heart stood in the shadows of his self-imposed isolation, being ignored by many, many years, becoming cold and dry. 

But seeds of love never die completely, and when Severus was forced to face the pain of his heart unfreezing in the light of an old affection, cruel flames fed by logs of remorse and despair, he was given the chance to become a hero as well. 

Rescue had come for both through Hogwarts, by means of its late headmaster, in different times of their lives. Albus Dumbledore had been a wise man with an undying faith in love, which he had made an affair of honor to share with all who looked for it. And few questioned the wise wizard, and even those few respected the knowledge they knew Dumbledore had but couldn’t understand, even those with less than a whole soul.

And out of the trust in the personification of the love they wanted to keep, the men gripping wands that channeled great power―strong, resolved in who they were, in what they could be―were now locked in this dance with no predictable outcome. Out of respect, Harry had fed Dumbledore a poison. Out of respect, Severus had cast the ultimate curse on his mentor. 

From that moment on, trusting and understanding had become harder, and all would have been lost if they were not Dumbledore’s men through and through. Even parting as they did, their link to love broken by Dumbledore’s demise, Harry and Severus were still connected by another primal feeling, one they were very familiar with: hatred. All knew Severus hated Harry and that the feeling was reciprocated. But there was one more thing they hated, and hating it was what had kept them from killing each other on their previous meetings. 

Yes, they had met several times after that fateful night the Dark Mark had hovered over Hogwarts. Harry’s life had turned into a collection of searches. He had been searching for Horcruxes, Snape, strength, faith, hope… and Voldemort. Harry had found all he had looked for, but that didn’t mean he had been successful in everything he wanted. Finding Snape once more had ended up not being enough.

When Slytherin’s true locket had been located, Harry had also found Snape for the first time since Dumbledore’s death. The encounter was brief; the Death Eaters had been late and Disapparated a few exchanged hexes later. Harry had had the time to aim some curses at Snape, but as in the older wizard’s flight from Hogwarts, they had been easily deflected with carefree moves, and there had been no time for anything else.

Harry had become so frustrated at letting Snape escape again that he barely felt any joy in finally retrieving the authentic piece of Voldemort’s soul. He only felt some happiness when he had watched it dissolve in a hiss of smelly smoke upon the melting of its inanimate home. 

The searches continued, and helped by his loyal friends, Harry had found Hufflepuff’s cup… and Snape. A battle ensued. Many evil soldiers of the Dark Lord had been there, delivering hexes and their lives to protect the shiny prize, which Harry realized they had no idea it was much more than precious metal and stones. Even more, most of them didn’t know what the little trophy really rewarded the side that held it, but Harry was very aware of the tall, dark masked wizard with long, pale hands fighting Order members with an irritating ease and was not mistaken: Snape knew what they were really battling for. 

But all those certainties had only come to Harry later, because seeing Snape filled his head with a morbid determination, and his brain registered little else. The strength Harry put into bringing the murderer down made his heart scream, trying to be heard over the deafening pounding of his boiling blood, rushing hatred ablaze through his crystalline eyes, blinding him.

And seeing only the monster of darkness, Harry had roared curses from a trembling wooden wand, illuminating the loaded air around them, thundering loud against a solid shield. Although the magic wasn’t getting to its target, the feelings behind it flowed unblocked through linked eyes. Not even realizing the need for air rising more urgent between curses, making him vulnerable, Harry was taken by surprise by the blasting hex that hit him square in the chest, taking down his body, but never his determination. 

Another bright light came from Snape, sending Harry’s wand to the ground next to him. “You’re as pathetic and weak as your father, Potter!” 

“Just the way you like your victims, you coward!” 

“Shut up!” And excruciating pain shot through Harry. “Shut up, you stupid boy!”

Panting after the curse that had hit him, Harry hissed, “I don’t fear you.”

“But you well should!” Snape declared over new shouts of pain from Harry. The curse was lifted and Snape spoke again. “It’s a pity I can’t teach you what you deserve. You talk too much, Potter, just like your precious father. Your open mind leaves you such a helpless prey… A pity the Dark Lord wants exclusiveness over you.” 

Not another word left Snape’s mouth, nor another curse left his wand, and his hatred for Harry was only shown by his contorted face illuminated by the light of a curse coming his way from the far side of the field. Snape was gone a second later.

Harry’s body still ached on the ground, and would ache for the days that followed that encounter. Even after the physical effects of the battle had worn off, he was still affected by the aftermath. The hatred he felt only helped to reinforce every single word Snape had said to him. At first, all he could hear were the insults to his father, the contempt. But then, during the time it took Hermione, with the unexpected help of Slughorn, to brew the poison that would kill the foreign soul attached to the cup, Harry’s feelings had progressed to frustration at being mocked by the man he so despised. 

Although the loathing had been the tone of Snape’s words and actions, Harry had started to see more to them, especially the words…. Close the mouth, close the mind. Snape had been so worried about despising Harry with his sick sense of superiority that he had, in fact, helped him in a way Harry had been smug to notice. And so, other things were added to Harry’s many searches, one being a search for nonverbal spells, another for Occlumency skills. 

Finding Ravenclaw’s wand had put an end to at least one of Harry’s quests. The last inanimate Horcrux had been found several months after Hufflepuff’s cup’s recovery. Harry’s faith in himself grew with each step the war took, faith based on the love of supporting friends who pushed him forward, helped him achieve levels of expertise he would never believe possible. But something else pushed him to become more powerful as the end of the war approached, and Harry was not admitting it.

Stepping into the narrow and shabby little abandoned shop in Diagon Alley, Harry was not disappointed, but a little surprised by the lack of Death Eaters in sight. The boxes that were once lined neatly on floor-to-ceiling shelves were now everywhere, showing how little respect had been given to Mr. Ollivander’s belongings after he had disappeared. When the shop proved to be really empty, Harry, Ron and Hermione started using the crafted spell to locate the right wand. When Hermione called out excitedly from near the front of the shop, Harry knew the wand they looked for was the one which had been on display for all those years. 

Tucking the newfound Horcrux into his robes, Harry was following his friends outside the shop when he stopped in his tracks. Sensing more than seeing, he knew they were not alone anymore, if they had ever been. Harry turned, and there, standing in a shadowy corner, materializing from the darkness, was him. They locked eyes, indecipherable of their intentions, and before Harry could let his feelings act through his ready wand, Snape reached for his own, nodded and Disapparated.

Days later, Harry was still tormented by Snape’s behavior at Ollivander’s. Not even the involvement with the strategic preparations for the destruction of the last two pieces of Voldemort’s soul―Nagini and the Dark Lord himself―were able to take Harry’s mind completely off that weird exchange. Hatred in the form of hexes and curses Harry knew quite well, but hatred in the form of a nod…. There was no form of hatred that could be expressed as a nod, and yet Harry was sure there was nothing between Snape and him that was not based on loathing.

And so another summer came and Harry was almost ready to face his destiny. Every attempt to cast a hex non-verbally, each successful Occlumency exercise, all added to his confidence in the outcome of the war. Although there were no more Horcruxes to hunt, Harry had joined the Order in at least a couple of confrontations with Death Eaters before meeting Voldemort. On those occasions, Snape had been present, but every time Harry attempted to get to him, they would lock eyes, the Death Eater would put someone between them or would call the attack to an end and Dissapparate.

The first time it had happened, Harry had gone back to Headquarters frustrated―what he had called hunger for revenge not satisfied. But on the next, very successful encounter, the one that had led them to Voldemort’s whereabouts, Snape had met Harry’s eyes, had smirked after being hit by a particularly nasty hex, and had called the attack over. The joy of hitting Snape hard had been only overtaken by the imminence of meeting Voldemort not long after that day.

And with a shaky breath, Harry had stepped into his destiny, filled with a confidence born from love and hatred, ready to end his life, that life he’d been living since he had lost his parents, right there, hoping and only hoping for a chance to reborn.

Well-trained hexes, downright confidence. Force, faith. Soon Nagini was a pool of blood, soulless; soon bloody eyes trapped Harry’s strong green ones, dominating through fear, pushing back, crushing through bad feelings concealed in so many memories, compressing Harry into himself. An overwhelming despair unlocked a love kept consciously unnoticed in Harry’s mind, wanting to make it all stop, and hope filled with that love pushed horror away. Green cast with such strong feelings took the air around them, and evil would never rise from that shattered soul ever again.

Harry stared at his triumph, breathing hard, oblivious to the war still going on around him. The faces of those whose had succumbed invading his mind in this madness; their love still involving him in this surrealistic fog. His eyes left the body on the ground, dazed, but shone powerfully, all forgotten again when met evenly by Snape’s, poorly hidden behind a mask. Voldemort forgotten, Harry launched a march towards him. The sick smile that quirked from Snape’s mouth only made Harry advance faster.

A curse, a retreat, a step to follow; another curse, and more steps back closely followed by Harry. That’s how they get into the intimate dance around the trees. All each can see is the other, blinded by luminous hexes and determination. 

Harry is hit by a mute slicing hex, but is unaware of the pain the deep lash causes him. He flicks his wand and the same hex drains blood from Snape’s face. The older man takes off his mask and sharpens his eyes. A number of blows are blocked from each man until a bright red light goes through Harry’s shields, taking him down. 

“Come now, Potter! Show me what you’re capable of!” Snape’s voice is strong in the now silent woods.

Harry stands, panting. They restart the concentrated rounding movement. More exchanges of magic, and Snape is on the ground now. He laughs―a maniacal ―regaining his footing. Harry’s resolve is strengthened. Another heated exchange of furious light―they are bruised, bleeding and panting. 

“You’re pathetic, Potter!” Snape says, between deep breaths, Harry again on his knees before him.

Harry growls and Snape knows that is it. He gets hit by an especially vicious hex and loses his wand when his body is thrown back into a tree. He lets his legs lose the little strength they still had and slides down to the ground. He looks up when Harry’s feet come into his sight range. Harry’s eyes blaze in his, a trembling wand on his face. 

“Kill me,” Snape hisses through the pain now overtaking his battered body. “Kill me, Potter.”

And Harry’s eyes lose the maniacal brightness, widening in answer to Snape’s… request? He takes a step back. “No,” he whispers, still retreating.

“Kill me, stupid boy!” Snape growls.

“No, no.”

“Finish it, Potter! Finish what you came here to do!”

And realization finally reaches Harry, hate forgotten. He looks to the man panting in pain before him and everything comes rushing into the forefront of his mind, abating the hatred and revealing the sad frustration.

“I’m not here to kill you,” Harry says quietly and it’s true. He can’t kill, not anymore, not after all the love that brought Voldemort down moments earlier. “I can’t kill you after all you’ve done to… help me. I came here to end Voldemort, it’s done.” He fell to his knees, all suddenly too much.

“Damn, Potter!” Snape admonishes and closes his eyes. “Damn, Albus,” he completes in a whisper. The proof that Harry would not put an end to his life of misery, would not make him pay, only added to his guilt; the truth of Dumbledore’s words during their heated discussion among trees only slightly different from these, back in the Forbidden Forest. Harry’s love is indeed too strong, now he can see.

“Why did you have to kill him, Snape?” Harry asks, bringing Snape back from those painful memories.

“For the same reason you fed him poison, Potter!” Snape spits as an answer.

“He made me swear I would not stop!” Harry defends himself, trying to convince more than just the battered man beside him. 

Snape meets his glare evenly. “Whatever. You were there, Potter. You heard him pleading,” Snape says, letting his head fall back to the tree, finally able to bleed from the gashing wound in his soul. 

“He asked you to kill him?” Harry is dumbfounded. “Why? Why did he do that?”

Snape is still resting his head on the tree behind him.

“He sacrificed himself for you?! For that stupid Vow?! I needed him!” Harry accuses, and only then does Snape open his eyes.

“Albus was never thinking about me, Potter! I pleaded him to let me die instead, the old fool!” 

And Harry knew it was true. And Snape knew Harry understood. And both knew all they did had been out of love. Even if Snape hadn’t believed love could end the war as he was told, even if Harry didn’t understand fully what had passed, Dumbledore had been right, as always. The leaves shuffling in the wind took the silence that fell upon them. 

“I found them!” They hear a feminine voice shout from some distance.

“Now what?” Harry asks Snape, his voice numb and tired, uncertainty slipping in it.

“Life, Potter. Life.”


End file.
